


The stages of grieving you

by Ostigt



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, TW: dark, i don't know what this is, tw: death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:42:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24877129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ostigt/pseuds/Ostigt
Summary: "Mourning you doesn’t come in stages, though Konstantin told me there are five of them. The internet tells me there are seven-, sometimes twelve steps. I doesn’t matter. I grieve you in all stages at once. They don’t line themselves up for me to take on one at a time."Letter Villanelle writes Eve, post the second season finale. One shot, Villanelle POV.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 10
Kudos: 49





	The stages of grieving you

Dear Eve,

I’ve written you four times already; I can’t put into words how this has been for me.

First, I’m sorry I killed you, I left you to rot in ruins, beautiful ruins. I ruined your life, you ruined mine. It just felt fitting. Though, I am sorry.

Mourning you doesn’t come in stages, though Konstantin told me there are five of them. The internet tells me there are seven- , sometimes twelve steps. I doesn’t matter. I grieve you in all stages at once. They don’t line themselves up for me to take on one at a time. I’m angry, most of the time, I feel that the most. I also accepted the fact that I am angry, but I’m still angry. I wanted to turn back when I walked, to see the life drain out of you. Or to bring it back into your eyes.

Stop haunting me.

Fuck, why am I even writing you? You don’t deserve my words. Konstantin told me to though. “Yes boss, anything for you boss.” He’s very upset with me. I think you’re mad at me too, for leaving you on the dirty ground.

I can’t sleep, I want you to be here.

The steps of mourning you have left me paralysed, I think I’m sad. Under all the anger, there is hollowness. But not the usual hollow, it’s a heavy empty feeling. It echoes. You’re weighing on me. I wish I stayed, to pick you up and carry you away with me. I would sprinkle you over the ocean, so you could roam free, free of this life and free of me.

Do you hate me? I hate you, for leaving me like this. For leaving me to carry you with me. I usually go around, having expensive breakfasts to celebrate a job well done, I did all this for you. I killed you for you. I wanted you to feel the pain I did, I didn’t want you to walk away from me.

Your back was lined out too perfectly for me not to aim at it, I hated you. I wanted you to feel what I did.

I love you. I do.

I’m sorry I ruined you.

Sometimes I see women, whose eyes are dark and whose hair is bigger than yours. I think you’re sending them to me, are you? Do you want me to kiss them? Like I should have gotten to kiss you? Should I fuck them, like I should have fucked you? Thank you for sending them for me, but they do not compare.

Sometimes I smell coffee, and I wish I could breathe you in. This pain is different, full body. I think I miss you; I think I regret killing you, Eve. I can never eat pasta again, or kiss women with dark hair. You ruined me.

Stop haunting me.

Sometimes I see women in dark green turtlenecks, they look nice but not as nice as you. I want to grab them by the throat, tell them to stop. How dare they? I wish you were here to watch movies with me, and I want to know your morning breath.

Sometimes I buy flowers, white ones. Big ones, expensive ones. I would bring them to your grave if I knew where you laid. Instead they sit on my counter to wilt. Every time they do you die again, and around and around. They smell sharp, it hurts my nose, but I think you would like them. So I’m spending all my money on your flowers.

Stop haunting me.

The stages of grieving you don’t follow any path I’ve read of, you’re different. Even in this, you surprise me. I love you, for surprising me. Everyone I’ve ever met has been predictable, following the path I’ve predicted they would. They leave when I want them to and stay when I want them too. You never do though.

I make you dinner, shepherd’s pie. I learned it for you, I even talked to _him_ to do so. I could make it for you too if you didn’t have to go and die on me. You wanted this, you wanted to know what I felt like. I showed you, why did you walk away?

I love you; I do.

I can’t eat, I keep trying to out run every memory of you. Do you remember our dinner? How you surprised me then, how you smelled so lovely in the scent I picked for you. Do you remember standing in your kitchen, me in black and you in full blown insanity? Do you? I do.

I wish I never met you, you run through me. I sometimes think I should call Niko, to see where he laid you. Probably a small headstone, with boring cheap flowers. Or did he cremate you? I hope he did, he does not deserve to grieve you. He doesn’t deserve you.

You would hate a big funeral, even though your whole life is a spectacle.

I hate the word mourning; it sounds like an underground tunnel. Mourning you is not deep down, it’s right at the surface. Scratching at my skin, burning my eyes. I wish I could scream and throw things and push you away. You hurt me, now more than ever.

Eve. Please walk through my door. Sit down next to me.

We never talked about death, not in dying. Death as in killing, never in dying. Do you believe in heaven? You’re a smart woman, so probably not. I hope there is though, for you to not be stuck in emptiness for the rest of eternity. I sometimes wonder if I should turn the gun on myself, to come see. Would you greet me?

You’re probably loving this, seeing me like this. Laughing and pointing, you deserve to love this. You deserve everything.

I’m sorry I killed you.

Always yours,

Villanelle.

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don't know where this came from, it was just an idea that popped in my head that I couldn't get rid of.
> 
> I tried to write this as scattered as I could, I don't think Villanelle really knows how to grieve so this is her best attempt.
> 
> Thank you for reading! How do you imagine she coped with thinking Eve was dead?


End file.
